old farmhouse edward fahey
i knew its sad facade
the door flung open revealing an almost empty interior
the suddenness of the gate's desperate squeal
swinging on unoiled hinges -
one fastened only by a single screw to the gatepost
so much like
the tenuous hold
the slender bony grasp
the shrill and final whispers
of a man bent on letting go
while clinging with rusted threads
to the silvered wood of his life
20 comments:
Love your header image. The post photo is by an artist new to me, so he's someone I'll check out. Love your description of the gate barely holding on.
oh this one it's beautifull
thankyou annie! the header image is of a sidewalk during a recent day of melting. steven
hello nouvelles couleurs! i'm glad you enjoyed it. steven
Nice poem. Connecting the gate to a man on his deathbed surprised me. Wonderful!
I choked back tears as I read this one, Steven.
It describes my mother perfectly.
♥
Annie is right ... the photo is most unique and very lovely. I've come back several times to look at it. Your poem matches the beauty of the melting snow image ....
This poem strikes a chord in my heart as I slowly empty the house which has been "home" for the last 55 years and tidy away the last remnants of my father and the life he shared with my mum.
Love the art...at least a building can be brought back to life!
Most beautiful words Steven.
I recently took a photo of an old farm house that they had started tearing down. What made me pause was that the front door was open and so was the back door, allowing you to see straight through.
And then the next day when I rode by, it was just a pile of rubble. Glad I got it when I did.
As usual, nicely done Sir!
hey dan! gates, doorways, windows are surprising in their tenacious grasp on life - if life is defined as sustaining your purpose as long as is physically possible. then they open. steven
jo you know i've thought about you and how you're caring for your mom. i supported my wife through the flying away of her mom and her dad - both were painful and unimaginably difficult for her. the process of arriving at the flying away was little preparation for the actuality. i wish you goodness jo. steven
thankyou helen. steven
valerie it's an astonishing and enriching and painful experience unpacking and separating the remains of a life. you're such a talented and good person i wish you well. steven
alaine - true enough!!! steven
weaver thankyou. i love old buildings . . . they carry a lot of presence in them even after the bearer of the presence has flown away. steven
hope then you were meant to see that entire experience is what i would suggest!!! steven
Take a hint old man winter... let go and stop clinging to rusted threads already!!! The gates of spring are squealing desperately. Bring it on!!!!!!!
Acornmoon's comment is so sad. The painting is so lovely in its understatedness and the sidewalk on its side is poetry, too.
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